


A Variance of Saints

by findyourselfinpassion



Category: Band of Brothers, HBO War
Genre: (Only some of the characters are bent), Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst, Character Death, F/M, Genderbending, Hardships, Humor, Injury, Love, M/M, War, World War II, mature contact in later chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-14
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-05-13 20:58:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5716873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/findyourselfinpassion/pseuds/findyourselfinpassion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The great heroes of before, both of whom had survived with their souls intact and the ones who were left in the green fields of Europe during the Second World war, have been called upon once again from the threshold of the life after in attempts to reestablish and succeed in participating in the war to end all wars...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Foreword

**Author's Note:**

> {disclaimer: this is not a story related to the real men of Easy company and is not meant to insult or insinuate false information. I do not own any of these characters; this story was strictly written based off of the characters portrayed in the HBO show and how the fan base has come to characterize them, not off of the true heroes of the 101st airborne division.}

May you live in interesting times.  
Time and time again. 

\-----

The stories about the ones who have walked before have been passed down from generation to generation, upon era after era of listeners, their story of iconic happenstance driving history onto the path of importance. But scholars too often neglect to tell of what happened to them after life had its fill, once the universe had gambled their souls into existence too many times. Life happens in a single, throbbing moment, taking numerous forms and flashing hearts until chances have exceeded itself.  
War feeds off chance, off small instances. It is kept and counted in cruel measures; the time for a grenade to go off, the time to reload an assault rifle, the time for the first airstrike siren to go off. A mission will either fail or succeed within seconds, a life can be taken or saved under seconds. 

War draws in the minds from the lower class- the righteous youth, the heavily moralized- in attempts to fight a politician's conflict for what they call justice, for what the nation sees as decent. But wars were not meant for the civilized men of a civilized age; they were promoted for numerous reasons, under falsified variations of why's and how's and where's and who's. In the end, it is the ones who have fought in them, suffered, overcame them that should be rightfully remembered, watermarked as a historic reverence of an era. 

We have been taught of these wars, have grown to memorize their route and fancify their structures. The universe has been on the front of a thousand of these battles, has played them out on repeat in numerous, evolved forms and has shuffled its souls around in order to keep things formated. It has done so for millions of years, learning to grow and expand with each passing century. But upon doing so, it has pushed beyond the boundaries bestowed upon it at the beginning of time. The rules have been altered, stretched so thin that the free will given to mortal men has backfired, thrown off balanced over millenniums of wear. It has tried to correct itself from its own mistake, from this continued, over layered history, but in the process has unraveled it all together, throwing all those of the old generation back in attempt to gain retribution. 

Therefore, the great heroes of before, both who had survived with their souls intact and the ones who were left in the green fields of Europe during the Second World war have been called upon once more from the threshold of the life after in attempts to reestablish the war to end all wars and draw an end to the lives thrown from peace.


	2. Introduction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry it has taken so long to post this snippet, I have read and reread this so many times it has driven me insane! I am almost done with the actual first chapter, and I promise it will be WAY longer than this, I just want to make sure I'm doing the story line justice!  
> I promise future updates will not take as long!  
> Thanks for reading!  
> Xo c.r.

From what we cannot hold onto, the stars are made.  
\-----

It had started off as a promising sunday afternoon in West Warwick the day she had gone out to the mailpost, the snow crunching under the weight of her heavy brown boots, the way it always did at this time of year, a few letters of holiday greetings in hand to send out west. Winter had just arrived no more than a week and a half ago, the first snowfall proceeding rather late this year, even if most of the neighbors argued that the snow wasn't there to stay. She had been waiting to down on the coat her cousin had sent her from North Dakota, a hand me down gift last year for her birthday, her excitement peaking the moment she had heard the talks of a storm in town. So here she was, all bundled up in the black button down coat with a pair of tattered gloves, the ones where the fingers laid exposed, in her father’s old green hat, off once again to negotiate the frozen latch on their families dark blue mailbox.

The mechanism gave way to her frozen fingertips within moments of the confrontation, something not short of a miracle in her eyes. But as she turned to return back to the warmth of the house, carelessly flipping through the envelopes they had received, she heard the distant whoops and hollers of the neighborhood boys rounding the far corner, and smiled. She paused, lifting her dark eyes from her task, squinting against the sun and snow in their direction as she recognized one of the lads as her next door neighbor Jim, a young man of seventeen. Barely still a boy. 

‘Where’s the rush to, Jimbo? The dog catcher after you again?’ She had taunted him, for she couldn’t help herself. 

‘Not this time, Maria.’ He called back to her, smiling when two boys emerged from the house a few doors down, joining them in their youthful joy.

‘What is it then?’ 

They had barely come to a halt at the fence line where the two family properties met, their eyes alight with that all too familiar boyish glint, their hearts eager while their breaths staggered within their chests. 

‘We’re at war, Miss. America is at War!’

And with that, they were off again, or perhaps they had never truly stopped at all, for they were running past the front steps of their father’s homes in seconds, past the thresholds of where their mothers sat, waiting to weep silently over their naive thrill, mourning the thought of what they will come to ask of her. Out of spite, or perhaps out of their own bursting spirit, they had abandoned the sidewalks in order to run freely in the open road, yelling to all and everyone in earshot that the country was yet again at war. 

She made her way slowly back inside the colonial white house where her family had lived for generations, making sure the door was shut completely behind her, as to not let in a draft. The news hadn’t come as a complete shock to her, for she had heard the rumblings around town, in the news, at the theaters. But what shook her was the boy's gilded reaction to the news of war, how most of them were going to ask for their father's permission to join without a second thought as to what they were signing up for. 

As she padded her way into the foyer, dropping the envelopes onto the little furnished table next to the door, she took the time to appreciate the sound of her mother humming her favorite song gently under her breath in the kitchen, the silhouette of her father smoking his pipe in the living room near the windowsill, her siblings heavy footfalls on the beaten floor above her. These innocent moments were the ones that she promised herself that she would look back on when things got hard ahead, for they were going to get hard, knowing that the nation would start to ask sacrifices out of them all. 

She had studied incidences like this back in school, how there had always been a catalyst before any encounter, be it major or minor. In centuries past, it had taken on the titles of numerous euphemisms- the powder keg, the black swan, the crossroads- events that would forever define a single, flashing moment into a much grander, throbbing one. By the time the sun had set that night, the world that they were living in had turned on its side with the news of the catastrophe at Pearl Harbor, the national crisis that would live forever as a day of infamy, the day that brought The United States of America into yet another great war. 

December 7, 2941.


	3. Currahee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This didn't take as long as last time, which is a plus! And I already have bits and pieces for the next chapter, just bare with me!  
> {disclaimer: none of these characters belong to me or reflect upon the real heroes from which HBO got their basis from! I mean no disrespect and are only writing this out of fun! And as always, thank you for reading!}

Without a sign, his sword the brave man draws.  
And asks no omen but his county's cause. 

\---

July 20, 2942

Perhaps she was a little in love with it all in that moment, standing there within the ancient walls of the grand architectural terminal under the fading light of the afternoon sun. She found herself at peace looking around at all the unrecognizable faces, searching for no one in particular, yet everyone at once; it all held so much potential. It should have been overwhelming, simply chaotic; it had been something she had counted on. She was expecting a scene that would have made hell look organized, but instead, she found orderly madness, the space embracing foreign strangers from all around the country as if it they weren't here because a war was raging in the pacific. But they all were here on their own accord, and they were content with that fact first before anything else. She could not find one person that looked frustrated by the mere volume of it at all in the least, every able body weaving in and out of each other with as much ease as a dancer, as if it were choreographed. Both men and women alike wandered patiently, finding niches of their own and settling into what could be their foundation for the time ahead, comfortably, if not openly. 

When the subscription had finally arrived in the mail, it was different than what she was expecting. At least, the message was. She was expecting to have to venture to a camp out west, Oklahoma maybe, possibly by herself or with anyone else in the area who was going that way. What she didn't plan on was getting assigned to meet at Terminal Station in Atlanta, Georgia. She assumed it was a mix up or a wrong transfer and went back the recruitment office to ask for her forms. But she would be going to Atlanta nonetheless, the jump school apparently located a few miles from the terminal. 

She had her fill of transfers by the time she reached the last outpost before this one, needless to say. In order to reach the darn place, she had to change railways three different times in the course of two days. But my, did she come into contact with a lot; as the calm frosts of a Rhode Island spring melted away to the mountains of Virginia and the oceans of Carolina, nothing could have prepared her for the bristling heat of Georgia. 

But it was doable, she had to make it so, for it was said that they were going to be down here for a while, Basic and Jump Training all wrapped up into a newly designed camp and program of its own accord. 

“The registration desk?” She asked a man who had just finished directing another recruit to where his unit was stationed generally, kind green eyes and lofty mouth making it easy to approach him. 

“Straight back and to the right, you can’t miss it.”

She shouldered her bag once more, her dark eyes peering in the direction his arm swung to point to the ticket counters in the far right corner of the terminal, “Right, thank you.” 

He nodded, his coppery hair catching in the light before she had continued on her way, his presence imminent and known in that crowded platform. 

She passed a lot of men and woman like that as she fought her way to the far side of the room, the high windows illuminating the space in a golden glow of warmth and openness, highlighting their dominating presence. From what she could make out, they had come from all over; their accents think, skin tones reflecting heritage, education broader than the Richter scale. No two were ever the same. 

“Hey, how are ya?” She nodded in greeting, setting her bag down on the dark stone floor.

“Name?” The man behind the cage asked mirthlessly, barely looking up from the sheet.

“Luz, Maria Charis Michelle.” She answered, as he flipped through the papers absently, searching for the name that matched the woman’s small stature, “I’m fine, by the way. Thanks for asking.” 

The man hardly paid any attention to the comment, settling on scribbling out her name in a bold black pen and handing her a small bit of paper with her identification on it. “You will be issued your dog tags once you reach the barracks. You will also be asked to sign some more paperwork and go through a medical evaluation.” 

“Than-,” She started, but was cut off as he waved the next person to the window, flipping through the crowded pages once more. “Nice talking to you too.”  
\---  
She sat next to a gentle spoken Louisianian on the transfer to camp, which was pleasant and dismissive all the same. At a young age, Maria had made a it a habit to fill the silent space between conversations with endless chatter, so she didn’t mind being the one to ask all the questions, so long as they didn’t sit in silence. And he had been polite in answering and asking back, telling her he was from some city on the Bayou, how he had a big family, how he liked to cook. She found amusement in the way his features contradicted themselves on the most innocent level; his dark eyes never seemed to flare in annoyance, no matter how many times she shifted or how she seemed to babble none stop, but he had a mouth that, even in its neutral state, seemed to be content with being forever set. 

She had whacked him a few times along the way in attempts of adjusting her bag, apologizing the first few times. He was amazed at how the woman never seemed to sit still, yet how content she was with not doing much of anything at the same time, able to talk about practical topics at the same time as making important figures the subjects of her punchlines. She had a quick mind and a wide sense of humor, her dark eyes reflecting back her childlike delight, he found it was amazing how quick the ride went with her next to him, not giving his brain enough time to overthink what he was in for. 

“Well, it was nice meeting you, Roe.” Maria had finally offered as the vehicle came to a stop, moving to stand.

“Pleasures all mine,” He moved to the aisle in order to let her out first before hauling his own bag off the top shelf. She gave him one more hopeful look before turning to weave her way to the front, her dark hair falling out of her pins in tiny places, exposing waves. 

\---

The air tasted heavy in his mouth and made his skin sticky. 

The first thing he noticed was the mountain, an impending and intimidating site, setting the picturesque atmosphere. But Joe had no doubt that they would be running that at least once a month, the camp's location in accordance with the great slope too ironic not to have it included in their PT. He had been waiting in line for what seemed like hours, the sheer number of new recruits overwhelming the clerks who sat side by side within the barracks no more than one hundred paces away from him. 

He already was fed his first meal as a Paratrooper recruitee, but as soon as he downed the last of the food, he was quickly shuttled to wait in line for the sick bay, where he would be subjected to a medical check and setting up of his health records. He went through the process of vaccinations, drawing of blood, etc...etc... 

The next step was where he was right now, waiting at the administrative section to sign last minute paperwork, receive his dog tags, ID card, allotments, service record book, and be issued of the all-important service number. Somewhere in there, they would receive their initial issue of clothing and gear, draw rifles, receive their potential MOS. But for now, he stood waiting in a line that seemed content to only move an inch every five minutes. And he wasn’t the only one who felt the cruel humor of the world testing his patience. 

“The hell with this, someone come get me when I’m up.” Scowled a dark featured, broad shouldered man half a dozen people from him, no doubt an arrival from Boston or Philly by the roll of his thick accent.

“You’re almost there.” Accused a drawn voice two people behind the man, a pinched input that wasn’t needed, especially when tensions were running high and patience low. “Suck it up.” 

“Oh, this is what you call ‘almost there,’ junior? We’re halfway to the terminal where your feet stand right now. Shit, I’d hate to see you bed-” 

“What?”

“Come here and I’ll whisper it into ya ear.”

The blond haired man was out of line and throwing a fist at him before he could finish his sentence, ready for the fight and almost welcoming its arrival if it meant livening up whatever this was in the process. He blocked his hand with ease, tackling the younger man to the ground and throwing his own range of punches and hits. 

The Philly breed boxer had pinned his victim effortlessly under his weight, blood from his opponent's weakness etched onto his white knuckles in little to no span of time. It didn’t take Joe’s conscious long to agree that this was going to get out of hand soon if someone didn’t stop it, and swore under his breath. He weaved his way through the gathering crowd, flippantly losing his spot in line to haul the dark haired man off of the lanky recruit, ready for this day to be over.

“Easy,” His gruff voice huffed as the instigator got to his feet and took a step toward the other man’s bent body still maneuvering on the ground, his hand out stretched and finger splayed. “Easy.”

“Jesus Christ,” sputtered the younger man, trying to roll over onto his hands and knees, spitting blood onto the dirt at their feet, “Who the hell dumped your ass before shipping out?” 

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Joe turned, his eyes wide at his stupidity, his own temper rising. 

Joe was all for a fight, for he had spent his fair share of time in them, coming to almost mastering its fine art. But what he couldn’t stand was a smart mouth on his opponent, especially when they didn’t have anything to lose except their dignity. That either made them extremely dumb or exceptionally brave; either way, it made his blood boil.

He had just enough leverage to catch the man in front of him before he could go at the moron again, cursing at him in a language he couldn’t decipher before spitting out a fairly English sentence, “I’m about to dump on your ass in a second, pal-” 

“Cobb, shut yer yap and get back in line before you end up in the aid station.” a woman a few steps away scolded around a wad of gum, her eyes narrowing at the younger man still on the ground, blue eyes hard enough to pierce them all into keeping their mouth’s shut. 

The man spat one last time before pushing himself onto his haunches, shaking the dirt out of his hair and off of his clothes. Once he decided the two weren’t going to go at it again, Joe dropped his hold on the shorter recruit, fixing his shirt as the kid got back to his feet, admiring the way he seemed to wince in protest at the movement. 

“Adolescence; they think they walk on water these days,” the fighter scoffed, smacking the dirt off of his pants before extending his hand out to Joe, his eyes bright and smile genuine, if not a little devilish. “Bill Guarnere,”

“Joe Toye,” he returned, balancing his firm hand with his own, marveling in the way he found sincerity in his grip. 

“Nice to meet ya, Joe.” He nodded, dropping his hand in favor of crossing his arms, a smirk cutting into his cocky mouth, “Now, about that hold of yours…”

\---

The living quarters were larger than what he expected them to be, one large rectangular room with about a half a dozen or more beds, some of them bunks beds. There was only one divider in the back where the toilets were, he presumed, and the whole lodge had a freshly cut wooden smell with windows around every two beds or so, giving the room a natural sense to its layout. 

“They’re all the same, Charming.” Heaved an annoyed voice from behind him in the doorway. 

“What-” he started but was maneuvered out of the way by a man a little taller than him with bronzed hair.

“Pick a bunk.” He rasped, walking around to plant his bag on one of the upper double beds, turning around to inspect his motionless body still on the brink of the threshold, as if he were to make a break for it any minute. “What, do you need me to choose one for you?” 

“Ah, no, I-” he replied, his blue eyes scanning over the beds, but turning wide as the other man stomped back over to him.

“Jesus Christ-” He muttered, taking David’s bag from his arms and throwing it onto the bottom bed of where he put his things, hauling himself up to his bunk. “There. Not so hard?” 

He didn’t know if he was being serious, narrowing his eyes in silent question, flickering between the man sitting on top of the frame above his bunk a few paces away and his own bed. His bunk mate’s lips were parted as his tongue continued to play with the toothpick that hung slightly out of his idle mouth, his frame lanky but backed up by his sharp, dominating presence. It caught him off guard, to be honest, the way his dark hair fell carelessly across his worried brow, hanging just above his dark, pinched eyes; the way he had a defined mouth, a prominence that made whatever shape it formed look like it always belonged there. 

“Look-” But his sentence was cut off when a cluster of voices and tones hustled through the door all at once behind him.

“No, no, I’m telling ya fellas, Columbia is the place to go when you have a weekend pass. My uncle took my brothers and I down there last summer and let me tell you, the Broads,” the leader looked over his shoulder as to not offend anyone close by before lowering his voice, his eyebrows raised in emphasis. “Phenomenal women.” 

“Come on-” The third man laughed behind the other two sliding in through the door.

“Okay, but up north ain’t that bad either. I had me a Falls girl last spring and- Eh!” The second man smiled, seeing him standing there, pausing long enough to grin and extending an open palm. “Please to make your acquaintance, Skip Muck.” 

His comrades smiled, throwing down their sacks on the closest beds, shaking his hand as well, before nodding their head in acknowledgment to the other man laying across the room.

“Don Malarkey,”

“Floyd Talbert.”

“Joe Liebgott.” Offered the man laying in his bunk in return.

"David Webster."

“I know a Webster,” Strained a third voice from just beyond the threshold, a shorter woman carrying a bag practically the same size of her, her dark curls falling out of where she had them pinned back, “Hey, you from anywheres around Illinois?”

He shook his head, “New York.”

“No kidding!” Shouted Muck, again pausing from rummaging through his personals, “Buffalo.” 

“Manhattan.”

“Shit,” He smiled, approvingly, “How’s that treating you?” 

“Well enough, haven't seen much of it since moving to Boston for school-”

“Damn, a college boy!” Hollered Malarkey, flopping down on the bottom of his bunk and throwing his hands behind his head, “Boston U, or..?”

“Harvard.” Webster winced, sitting down on the edge of his own bed, his forearms propped against his thighs, his muscles aching from the train ride. 

“Who went to Harvard?” Piped up the short, dark haired girl after she had claimed the bottom bunk of the bed diagonally from where his was, much more interested in where the conversation was going rather than unpacking.

“Professor Webster, here.” Smiled Malarkey harmlessly, watching as her smooth face contorted into one of approval, but her dark eyes turning as if to size him up, picking out all and any vulnerable points.  


“Impressive.”

It was just the six of them for a while, settling into a polite chatter of nonsense and familiars, comparing possible livelihoods and backgrounds with one another. Joe was from California, which didn’t come off as surprising once he connected the two. Skip grew up in a tiny town in Buffalo, Floyd in Indiana, Malarkey in Oregon and the woman who went by the name of Emily Perconte in Illinois. They came from all walks of life, differing backgrounds with cultural identities to match and had stories that would take a lifetime just to explain, and their journey together had only just begun. 

A few more people had arrived between the time he had settled and the sun fell over the horizon, a woman named Andrea Penkala also from Indiana, taking to talking to the other westerns in minutes, two dark haired men chatting about their ethnics named Joe Toye and Bill Guarnere, and a a girl barely out of her teens by the name of Irene Sisk hailing from West Virginia. 

They had left the cabin’s door open to let in the fresh air as the atmosphere had cooled down a little since the morning, but they were not issued to shower so they still felt the heavy weight of the heat on their sticky skins. The sun was just beginning to bathe the valley in a burning orange flame, the distant star’s body colliding with the side of the not so distant mountain side, when he noticed that most of the beds in their barrack were occupied. It should have hindered all of them to come into close contact with so many new faces and souls, but a lot of them seemed to adapt it well, reveling in its novelty and newness. Andrea Penkala had smuggled down a set of playing cards and it barely took most the lot to settle down and start betting as soon as the set was discarded onto her bunk. 

“You ever play poker before, Toye?” Malarkey mocked as Joe swept the pile of money and cigarettes into his possession for the second time, a careful smirk hinting at his lips at the other man’s sarcastic tone.

“Something like that.” 

“Mind teaching me sometime?” Skip groaned as he dealt the cards, regretting his decision to ask the others to play in the first place. “By the looks of things, I might as well gamble my monthly paycheck out, I’d end up losing less in the long run.” 

“It's all in keeping a straight face, junior.” Guarnere smirked, picking up the cards in front of him and reorganizing them to his liking, his face neutral.  


“That and having some god given luck.”

“'Shallow men believe in luck. Strong men believe in cause and effect.'” Pointed a new voice from the threshold where the last two soldiers of their party stood, two differing women with soft smiles and kind eyes, “It's just and old saying, boys. Deal me in once you get the reference.” 

“Emerson?” Webster offered from his bunk, his face turning bright and heart racing at the literary connection. 

“Certainly.” 

“Certainly.” The shorter mocked in a thick British accent, walking over the the empty bottom bunk next to Emily Perconte’s, grinning from ear to ear, “Let us now certainly go rendevous out on the terrace and have Dante bring us some cigars as we talk more of Emerson.” 

“She reminds me of my second cousin back in Philly. Same look, same humor, little to no sense of direction though." Guarnere observed under his breath below the chuckles exchanged from everyone in the room, who were now watching the pair settle into their new cycle of living "Hey, where do you hail from, kid?"

“Slide over fellas.” Said the impersonator, taking a seat in between Guarnere and Andrea before gathering the cards in front of her, reorganizing them. "West Warwick, Rhode Island."

“Donald Malarkey.” Said the redhead from across their makeshift table, in awe of the tiny, black hair woman in front of him chewing on the end of a toothpick she had a taken from her bag. 

“Maria Luz,” she exchanged,extending her hand. “That there is Charlize Lipton.” She pointed, looking over her shoulder towards her new companion, smiling as she took in all the men’s subtle but lingering gaze, “Beautiful ain’t she?” 

“Maria-”

Maria waved her off and shifted closer to Guarnere, who looked in her direction hesitantly, making room for her to sit down, patting the bed.

Charlize apologized for her friends comment before sitting down and properly introducing herself graciously. They all exchanged formal names soon after in little ceremony, taking to continuing their game as quickly as possible, enjoying the additional numbers. Those who weren't playing went to take up posts on top of the bunks to watch in mild amusement, including Webster, who couldn't help but smile at what unfolded between their makeshift group upon the arrival of a certain dark haired, humorous woman.


	4. Toccoa and Mackall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {disclaimer: none of these characters belong to me or reflect upon the real heroes from which HBO got their basis from! I mean no disrespect and are only writing this out of fun! And as always, thank you for reading!}

We pull upon the risers,  
We fall upon the grass.  
We never land upon our feet  
We always hit our ass.  
Hide tidee, Christ almighty,  
Who the hell are we?  
Zim zam, goddamn!  
We're Airborne Infantry.

\---

March, 2942

What seemed like miles and miles of road stretched ahead of them, paving a constant reminder into their very hearts and souls that they still had a long way to go. With every breath they took, with every step they walked, they could feel their muscles ache from past runs and drills performed over the past half a dozen months. There were no words exchanged, the soft murmur she had grown to know and recognize from the numerous days and hours spent with these companions fading away, replaced with the sounds of clanking guns and stomping feet. 

Tonight was like any other Friday night, leaving them with little to no room to even breathe a complaint under Captain Sobel's command, and he had been in a foul mood to begin with. Throughout the entire day, from beginning to end, she believed it was Sobel's plan to make their lives a living hell, which was nothing short of predictable considering their past record; they drilled from zero four hundred until ten hundred hours, then ran an extra hour of PT in the afternoon after lunch and then were interrupted in the middle of break to be told by Sobel they would be running Currahee. 

Currahee, the battle cry of the 101st; "We stand alone." Three miles up the mountain, three miles down. A symbol of pure resentment ever looming in the distance as the picturistic backdrop of camp. 

Easy Company was widely known for their outstanding performance at Toccoa, and to the NCO's back at regiment, they had Sobel to thank for it. But as they continued their hike down the opposite road from where Currahee was positioned, adding another six miles total to their trip, the only thing strong enough to take her mind off of the searing pain now radiating throughout her limbs was all the different ways she could kill Sobel with his own techniques he so willingly drilled into their heads. 

"I'm going to say something," Randleman muttered besides her, a young private who looked more like a Missouri farmer with a thick southern accent than the tough paratrooper she has come to know.

"To who?" Maria asked, half amused and too exhausted to care about the outcome of his actions, shrugging when he glared at her. 

"Lieutenant Winters?" Randleman called out, making sure to keep his voice as respectable as possible while staying in synchronized tune with the rest of them marching. 

“Yes?" 

"Permission to speak, sir?"

"Permission granted." 

Now Richard Winters, another CO of the company, was the kind of man who came off as having no flaws, no vices and no sense of humor, but with Sobel as the head of Easy Company, Winters had filled in the desperately needed void of true leadership. Winters knew them, whereas Sobel directed them; Sobel was cruel and belittling, where Winters was stern and encouraging. Everyone saw how Sobel had turned them into the fighting machine they were known for today, but it was Winters who was the genius when it came to connecting what they had learned in basic to the field of battle. 

"Sir, there are nine other companies in this regiment, sir. How come we are the only company marching every other Friday night, twelve miles, full pack, in the pitch dark?" 

"Why do you think, Private?" 

"Captain Sobel hates us, sir." 

There was a short pause, as if the whole company was holding their breaths waiting for Winters reaction; it was not something to take lightly, speaking out against a commanding officer. However, the company known rivalry that Sobel had with Winters helped ease the sting behind his blatant words; it was just the other day that Sobel received a promotion to Captain, but was shadowed with having to promote Winters to Lieutenant at the same time.

From where she was marching, she could see Winters start to slow in pace so he was directly parallel to her and Randleman's line, walking just outside of formation like all commanding officers do.

"Captain Sobel does not hate Easy Company, Private Randleman," There was another short pause as Winters took another breath, and she swore to God she could hear a small smile hint in his voice, just another soldier within their ranks, "He just hates you." 

There came a soft chuckle from all the surrounding troopers who had overheard the conversation, and she could just make out Randleman's grin as he turned and called out in a proud voice, "Thank you, sir!"

She had known what Lieutenant Winters meant by his reply; although it was respectable and straightforward, she knew he had taken that extra second to really think about giving them an honest answer without disrespecting his CO directly in the process. Captain Sobel didn't hate Easy Company, he was right; in fact, Sobel loved Easy Company and had turned it into his very pride and joy. But the latter of what Winters said was also true; Sobel had no love for the men or women who have come to serve in Easy Company, and could care less about what he did to them as long as it won him promotions and he got to order them around. 

Nevertheless, she was glad for the distraction the conversation had brought, and was glad that she was able to be apart of what little joy they had in their lives since the day before yesterday. 

\---

He had never known exhaustion so efficient in its brutality, so crippling in its completion. In his half-conscious haze, he silently wondered if this was death or simply some madman’s scheme to manipulate his mind because he could.

And he had volunteered for it. They all had. 

“I’m gonna kill him,” He exhaled, too tired to move his gaze from the ceiling panels above his bunk, surrounded by the sounds of the others falling into their beds with collective groans and sighs, the afternoon light bouncing around the muggy barrack in fractured rays. 

“Take a number, Joe.” Guarnere sneered half-halfheartedly from below him, wincing as he eased himself into a sitting position at the edge of his mattress, taking a moment to contemplate bending down to untie his boots. 

Toye hadn’t even bothered to take off any article of his clothing, hauling himself up to the top bunk and collapsing almost immediately. They had just finished Currahee yet again, along with a day of grounded jump practice and endurance training, surely a continuation of the promotion Winters received a few days ago; Sobel had barged in halfway through dinner just last Wednesday yelling about a change of plans, ordering all the men and women of Easy to their feet and to get running. 

Joe knew this process wasn’t going to be a walk in the park, but never in his wildest state of mind would he have pictured a psychotic C.O. instructing them in the art of battle. It was one thing to be a hard leader, and another to be a ruthless one; with the rate things were going now, Joe wouldn’t be surprised if Sobel was going to end up being the first casualty of the company, and it wasn’t going to be on some Kraut’s doing. 

This wasn’t the first time this thought has passed through his mind, no matter how insignificant or purposeful it was, and he was sure it wouldn’t be the last. But something miraculous was beginning to happen under Sobel’s hateful guidance and it was getting harder and harder to ignore; the men and women of Easy Company were beginning to bound, truly bond. 

When they were running Currahee, Sobel pushing them every step of the way, Warren Skip had fumbled and twisted his ankle and both Malarkey and Gordon had reached out to helped him against the Captain's words. The day he made them run directing after lunch, throwing insults at everybody who moved through his vision, Maria had starting singing Upon the Risers, leaving Sobel behind them on the roadside. Or even most recently when Gordon was told to run Currahee by himself to prove he wanted to be in the Airborne, Talbert, Shifty and Christensen had cut through the surrounding forest in order to accompany him. 

It was unity under hardship through their Captain’s only unknowing ignorance. 

His thoughts were interrupted once Lip came in and yelled for them to change into pack and gear, her voice ever encouraging, but definitely wore from the day's work. They had five minutes. It would have been easier to swallow the order if he knew that this was the last he had of PT for today, but like every night before this, he new the evening promised uncertainty, plans ever changing like their commanding officer’s temper. 

\---

Later that night after they had washed up and settled down, they took up their spots in their beds, some in different bunks from that first night on the grounds, which was all but understandable. They had come to find friends among each other, some more so than others, but at least they were all on a friendly basis. They had molded to one another through living under the same roof day in and day out, learning the advantages and disadvantages of each member of their unit. In some cases, that knowledge extended out onto the fellow soldiers who were placed outside of their small barrack, but the fellowship found here went somewhere just beyond that. 

"What the hell are you saying, Luz?" Liebgott demanded from atop his bunk, one arm slung lazily across his brow while a cigarette dangled loosely between his fingertips, his sneer challenging Maria. 

"Oh, don't give me that, Lieb," she threw back adamantly from where she laid. "You know you're a temperamental ass, don’t even try to take offense." 

"But to go and say that my face reverts back to a judgmental bitch state-"

She gave the bed above her a swift kick as she heard the muffled snickers and whispers, Skip groaning in protest at the sudden violence to his back, reawakening old pains.

"Shut up, Joe, she's not wrong." Webster muttered above his journal under Lieb's bunk, hiding a small smile as he dodged the finished cigarette butt thrown down at him. 

"All I'm saying is that everyone has that natural look that defines them; Skips smirk, Malarkey's worried brow, Web's doe eyes -don't start with me David, I swear to god," she cut in halfway through her sentence, one hand raised against Web's gaped mouth, eyes ever alight in betrayal. "Everyone has something." 

"Okay, Guarnere then." Penkala chirped brightly from the top of her bunk across the wide room, leaning forward over her knees, her dog tags swaying gently in front of her torso.

"Haunty, half gaped mouth."

"Roe."

"Set jaw." 

"Nixon."

"That dark glint that he gets in his eyes when he’s been drinking and knows more than you do. C'mon, give me someone hard!" 

"I bet you can't peg Toye down," Liebgott scowled around a new cigarette, tossing her the lighter after taking note of the butt that has been dangling from her lips for the past ten minutes or so, sidetracked by the entertaining conversation. 

She caught that all too familiar flash of knowledge that hid conspicuously within his dark irises as the small body of the lighter hit her palm, the man knowing exactly what he was asking for. 

"Watch it," Joe cautioned lightly from where he laid in his bunk, arms crossed over his chest as he met Lieb's smart gaze, a gentle smile playing at his lips.

"I'll take that bet," Malarky declared innocently from the other side of the room where he sat below Penk, smiling up at Lieb and catching Skips eye, tempting him to anty him. 

“By all means,” Toye scoffed as he waved them on, shifting so he could lay back against his headboard and watch as things unfolded. He pointedly met meeting Maria’s calculating gaze already watching him, her head subconsciously tilted to the side as she considered her angle. 

"Ten more bucks says Luz'll try to go for Patton next." Lieb challenged again, enjoying the arousal he got from instigating the younger ones of the group into betting more money. 

It had become one of his favorite past times, to harass the vulnerable through something as innocent as a side comment or as hazardous as inciting gambling among those who were more tempted by it. He was perched on the edge of his bunk and swinging down to stand next to Webster’s upright body is a flash, their eyes meeting for the briefest of moments before settling back on the unfolding scene around them.

"All I got is five-" Malarkey replied disdainfully, rummaging through his things desperately. “Anything bigger will be the death of me.” 

“I’m not complaining.” Skip urged sarcastically, counting the growing pot, grinning at Malarkey’s pointed glare.

She let the conversation drag on as she studied the dark haired man across the room, the focal point of her interest at the moment, the center of their most recent scheme. 

Toye was an open book so long as he was closed off; the man had perfected the art of reservation as long as he could say whatever he thought important out loud whenever the occasion arose. That's how Joe was; not shy like Roe, but not vociferous like Skip or Lieb either. She has grown to studying all of her comrades in her spare time, watching their reactions, how their faces would light up in joy or faulted in sadness; their own mundane reactions sobering her. It had become something that she did to pass the time, something that brought something greater to the table to spark her ever routined life.

This was something she particularly liked about watching Toye, how he had one consistent personality within a few quirks; you knew where you stood with Joe at all times and you respected him for that first and foremost.

But during the past few months together, Maria couldn't ignore the way his eyes flickered, like something from long ago-a passing memory that wasn't quite his, yet still shared the burden. It made her own heart stop in her chest for the briefest of moments when she noticed this trait, receiving her own small, foreign recognition. But before anything could come of it, the feeling would subside and fade, just as a dream does as the day wears on. 

His eyes met hers again from across that wide space, filling the room with white ambiance and blunt texture. His dark irises echoed that of a man who played with fire, someone that delighted in the way it burned yet respected it enough to keep his distance and just admire, and she smiled because he knew and relished in it. 

"Maybe later boys," she grinned, shifting so she could rest her hands behind her head and lay down on her back, "Would hate for you all to go broke on my account, especially so early in the night."

A chorus of protests and relief rang up in the space around them, followed by shouts of demands to return stale money- You gotta be shittin me! It definitely was six, Warren, dammit. Don’t be an ass!- to their rightful owners. Skip huffed and apologized several times as he begrudgingly handed over the heap of money he had started to acquire, "Leave it to a woman to bust a man's gambling enterprise."

“You should be thanking her,” Lip called from her bunk a few rows down where she sat reading her most recent novel sent from her mother. 

She watched carefully as the others laughed and jeered at one another, returning back to their rightful bunks, or in their general vicinity. Liebgott hadn't moved from where he initially dropped down next to Webster, the only progress shown was that he now sat at the end of his comrades bed, one leg outstretched and torso bare as they babbled about nonsense, both bickering within minutes. Penk still sat across the way chatting with Malarkey and Skip, her hands caught in a whirlwind of wild gestures as she had the boys in hysterics.

"So what of you, beneamata?" Emily smirked from the bed next to her, laying on her stomach with her chin resting on her forearm, nodding her head towards her friend, "What is your signature?" 

"Me? Oh, it is a philosopher's secret," Maria waved off, turning so she could rest on her side facing the Italian, "I never prophesize about myself, my dear." 

"Hmm," she mused, tilting her head so she could rest it upon her hand, "Well if you'd ask me, I'd say it is something in between an amazed look and a clumsy stature." 

"How quaint." 

“Quite,” She nodded mockingly at Maria’s sarcastic remark, her smile sharp and growing. “But I still gotta wonder…” 

“Oh, how I hate it when you start to think like that-” Luz groaned, returning to rest on her back. 

“Like what?” 

“-It leaves such an awful taste in my mouth, positively dreadful-” 

“Mar-”

“When you go to find a deeper meaning behind the essence that is Maria Charis Michelle Luz-”

“What’s with the two-”

“Perco,” She sighed patiently, raising her hands to cover her eyes, shaking her head in mock dismay, “ Aren’t you Catholic?” 

“What of it?”

“Confirmed?” She pointed out, hinting to herself, “Michelle, Michael... Aren’t you Italians supposed to be the ones really into religion?” 

“Gono,” She called above the noise, looking over her shoulder towards the bed where the other Italian sat with Lip, Sisk and Tab, grabbing his attention immediately. “This schmuck is saying we ain’t religious enough for our ethnicity, you’re getting called upon to defend the faith.” 

He looked passed Emily to where Maria laid beyond her, genuinely ready to fight for specifics. However, once he saw and realized that it was Luz, who waved at him from behind Perco, his facial features eased and he chuckled, returning to the card game at hand. 

“One war at a time, Em. Can’t be fighting everybody.” 

“No loyalty, not even from kin.” 

“Don’t worry,” Maria mused, settling back onto her bed as she watched the boys play out the card game at hand. “I'm sure someone will get him to punch me in the face one day.”

“Yeah, and that’ll be the day he gets his ass handed to him by me.”

“No loyalty.” She returned the Italians gaze, grinning as she brought her cigarette back up to her lips. 

\---

He had never felt acceleration like that before; it was terror and glee and nerves all wrapped into one emotion, a flashing moment that indicated the true identity behind the Airborne branch. It wasn’t just the jump, or the fall for that matter; it was the tension that lied within the plane as they reached their flying altitude. It was in the first flutter that had jolted his stomach as Lipton, the first trooper in their unit, lept out the door. It laid within the overwhelming seems of acceleration once it was his turn, in the heavy sensation of falling and in the final pull of the parachute once it had opened to its full capacity upon his torso and shoulders. 

He felt sorry for the poor SOB’s who were afraid of heights, the ones who hated this feeling, but quickly dismissed the thought; they shouldn’t have signed the papers if they were scared of falling. Joe was a junkie for dangerous, temptation exploiting adventures; he loved the freshness and thrill that came with the unknown, with the possibility of harm. Even as a child, he couldn’t wait to tell his mother all about his troubling adventures that had sent him running from the kitchen in glee; nothing has changed in that matter- he couldn’t wait to tell her all about this once he got back to California, knowing that his antics scared her half to death most of the time. 

Easy was scheduled to run through a series of five jumps today, the company broken into smaller units of twelve in order to fit into each C-47 aircraft. After their succession of the fifth and final jump, they would be certified paratroopers; this was Liebgott fourth jump. 

The first two rotations would be the clumsiest of the set; with the anxiousness of flight and the reality of it all, most men and women had slipped out in one area or another. However, the first run wasn’t to test one's ability to negotiate themselves once they hit land, it was to test and see who had the nerve to actually jump from the door. 

The parachute had dragged him a few feet once he had landed on his first jump, and during the second the button on his chute got jammed. Folding the cloth had been a hassle, not to mention his stiff landings. But with this jump, he was ready and he was furiously excited. Most of the troopers in his stick were from his housing unit, and he couldn’t help but harass the man in front of him for the second time that day, this time out of pure enjoyment rather than anxious sidetracking, his insistent fingers pinching and patting David Webster harder than he had to during equipment check. 

“Eight okay!” He yelled around a monstrous grin as Web moved to elbow him as he yelled out his own number over the roar of the engine. 

This was what it all came down to, the title defining event that made up for their harder, longer training cycles, the stage that set them apart from regular infantries and ground troops. This is what it meant to be a paratrooper, this was why they had endured Sobel’s antagonism and brutality for the past two years, this was why they fought so hard to earn their right at the door. 

“Go, go, go!” The instructor yelled up ahead, and the unit to shift towards the front. 

And this was only the beginning. 

\---

“High Ho, Silver!” 

Celebration, that's was this was. He had almost forgotten what it tasted like after being stuck in everyday routines and under critical supervision for the last twenty months. Celebration vibrated within the very walls of that small bar, echoing and resounding into each and every soul until it threatened to tear through the very drywall if not expressed. Bodies from numerous units mingled with bodies of others, friendships and camaraderie born in single, abrupt moments like these- in moments of triumph and subtle victories.

They had succeeded, had beaten back the obstacles of Basic and had endured the aches and pains that came with bruised knees and strained muscles. 

He had just left Guarnere with some of the boys from barracks, downing his third or fourth glass of alcohol with the Paratrooper insignia between his teeth, knowing that more drinks were to follow and money even more so. Gambling had never been a foreign element to the masses of Easy, and Joe was sure that he had seen Malarky and Penk rounding up the youngest of the troopers throughout the night to show them the art of Craps. It would have been an expected incident if not for the particular background that had lead to this sort of desperation; he still couldn’t believe that those two could have enough money left over to gamble with after this afternoon. 

Perco had started a running bet a few months ago on when and if they would finally hear Maria speak Portuguese. Perco and Lip had bet right away that it would happen after their first jump, the excitement of the event leading to an overflow of words and emotion unfamiliar to the English language, while Penk, Skip and Malarky bet otherwise. Needless to say, the girls received a seventy percent income raise this month while the others lost out on that percentage. But from the looks of it, the loss didn’t hinder their spirits, and they were out to earn that money back. 

Thinking about the dark haired woman brought his attention back to to the bar where he was wandering to, Maria was tending to nearby goers, giving out cheaper drinks to those she deemed worthy and teasing those who tried to push her hand, playing them off with a smile and a flippant string of profanity. 

He went and situated himself against the wooden frame as Luz maneuvered the drinks to three troopers at the far end of the bar, turning to refill a blonde’s scotch and returning empty classes to the underside of the bar. She was a whirlwind of graceful and swaying motion, focused sincerely on the task at hand while being able to situate herself enough to focus on the people she was serving. It made his head turn. 

“Corporal Toye. There will be no leaning in my company,” Maria drawled, taking in his resting frame as she neared him, echoing the nasally voice of their X.O. as her dark eyes wandered his frame. “Are those dusty jump wings? How do you expect to slay the huns with dust on your jump wings!”

He smirked at the familiar playfulness that ebbed into her natural glee, the lingering stench of alcohol catching on her breath as she leaned in unconsciously closer, her face even with forced seriousness. 

“Luz,” He chided, grabbing the woman gently by her collar and pulling her closer, allowing himself to tease the known comedian through his own means, “Just get me a drink.” 

Her smile was brilliant and luminescent as it broke across her mocked serious features, her eyes alight with the second hand joy of those around her, “Hell of an idea, Joe.” 

The rest of the night had proceeded with all the dignity and grace a couple dozen of tipsy young adults could muster on a night like this, full and brimming in celebration. They were congratulated personally by Sink himself, given a non denominational blessing and safe regards as one of the first companies of Paratroopers to be graduated in the US Airborne branch and sent back to their drinking and gambling. It had been a night of thanks, relief and forward thinking, but at the end of it all, surrounded by the people he had come to know, come to befriend, Joe found himself swaying in the snapshot of historical bliss. 

\---

June 23, 2943

“No,” Skip scoffed as he unwrapped the outside layer of the chocolate’s wrapping, breaking a piece off and popping it into his mouth, surprised that it had not melted in the Carolinian heat this afternoon. 

He had been sitting on top of his bunk within their barrack for the past five minutes undisturbed, the first break they had all day. But it didn’t take Malarkey long come looking for him, scoping the room in its entirety upon returning from lunch. He had spotted Muck’s lithe body lounging around the bottom of their shared bunk right away, his eyes flickering to the half eaten chocolate bar instantly. 

“I’ll flip ya for it,” Malarkey countered, sitting down next to the younger soldier as he started off the apple Luz had stolen for him from the kitchen, the cooks too busy to reprimand the notorious trickster as they organized themselves with the new waves of companies arriving weekly to Camp Mackall.

Muck stopped chewing. 

Gambling was Muck’s weakness, the enticing luck that laid behind it even more so; he loved the exhilaration he got during the finally winnings of a bet, of the lingering triumph knowing he held a good suit of cards within his palms, as he held his breath for the coin to settle. And Malarkey knew this. 

“Hmm.” He mused, stopping to consider his angels, his face contorting into a mischievous smile, “What do I get if I win.” 

The younger man had grown smarter in his gambling affairs since he had been upon early arrival, and Malarkey didn't know if he resented that revelation or was pleased. He shook his hand with the half eaten apple as offering, smiling around his mouthful.

Muck laughed, a sound that echoed once and continued with his smile, and pushed the younger man out of his bed. 

“You sir, are a jerk.” Malarkey mumbled around another bite, Skip purposely biting off another piece of chocolate. 

“Hey, give the kid a piece of your Hershey bar,” Perco chided halfheartedly from where she led a cheerful Luz and Penk through the door to their living quarters, their hair purposely pinned back yet falling around their faces in evidence of their get away. 

Skip’s mouth dipped slightly and his brows furrowed as he reluctantly threw Malarkey a piece of chocolate at the woman’s request, avoiding the redhead’s joyful eyes as he bit into it. 

Maria had only known them a little under two years, and them each other, but the relationship Skip had with Malarkey was genuine, if not outright brotherly. Their competitive spirits and similar backgrounds made them fire and gasoline sometimes, but the energy and spirit that each brought kept one another joined at the hip, bouncing off that natural high daily together. She smiled openly and threw him one of the apples wrapped in her arms, a red empire from somewhere south of Georgia, taking pity on the younger of the two. 

“Hey! He gets a chocolate bar and an apple?” Malarkey accused, dejected.

“Well it was his Hersey bar to begin with.” Maria scoffed, settling back on her bunk, dropping the apples onto the sheet in front of her as she surveyed the two men across the room, “You’re lucky I was feeling generous enough to pick off one for you.” 

“That's favoritism and you know it, Luz.” 

She winked and bit into an apple.

“Hey,” Emily called to know one in particular, settling herself on the bed next to Maria, “What the hell happened with Sobel on the field today?”

They all paused and looked to one another at the mention of today’s morning field work; it had been the first time today that they were alone and under the cover of a private facility with no NCO’s around, which gave them breathing room to talk freely about the upset at the ridge.

It was a scheduled field maneuver made up of positions, attacks and counterattacks to test the leadership skills of the company. Sobel had fumbled the position due to his jumpiness in the field, leaving Winters to advise him in his mistake, to which he ignored. 

They had lost ninety five percent of their company a with his decision to move. 

In the end, it didn’t matter if Winters was right or if he had tried to council the captain, Sobel had the last word at the end of the day, and ninety nine percent of the time, his word got them killed or subjected them to brutal training. 

\---

Lowis Nixon was a notorious drinker, but she was smart about it. If you had asked anyone else, they would have told you she was a genius, but to Winters, it was a gamble.

There had been a time, a brief moment really, that Dick had sworn the woman off when he had first met her back at Tocca during the early days of settlement. He had arrived a few days later than her during the allotted arrival days, only to wander into their bunker and find a half-emptied liquor bottle openly displayed out on one of the beds closest to the door. He had hesitated at the threshold as he contemplated the possibility of walking into the wrong hunt, only to step farther into the room as his eyes settled on a dark brunette pacing around the room, cursing silently to herself about the heat. 

Her dark eyes had barely glanced his way as he came into the room, too preoccupied with rummaging through the remnants of her footlocker, most of its containment's thrown sporadically around the vacant room in frustration. It had unnerved him that she didn’t try to hide or justify the liquor laying open for anyone else who happened to walk in and see it, but he couldn't help himself once he had spotted the three other bottles half hidden under the bed towards the wall, his curiosity and amusement flaring. 

“Vat-69, huh?” Dick had remarked with ease, dropping his belongings on the first bed completely void of any of the woman’s possessions, barely looking at his roommate as he fought off a smile. “Didn’t they tell you that alcohol is contraband?” 

“Oh shit,” She breathed, stopping for a moment to weigh the possibilities that he was joking, smiling once she accepted he was, “Must have been hungover during that part of the conversation.”  
Winters chuckled and opened his pack, relentless. “I’m surprised that you were able to get it pass check in.”

“Yeah, well,” she sighed, moving to organize her mess, having found whatever she was looking for; satisfied. “When you drink with some of the best, you learn to be smart about these sort of things. Lowis Nixon.”

She had sided stepped her bag and moved to fill the empty space between them in order to give Dick a firm handshake, her dark eyes bright and narrowed with humor, her lips full and curving with intelligence. 

“Dick Winters.”

“Dick, really?” She smiled, her eyes alight with a teasing, questioning glow as she dropped her hand from his, placing a hand on her hip. “Because, you know, now would be the time to forge a clean slate.”

It was in that moment that Dick had broke his own silent oath to stay clear of Lowis Nixon, enjoying the way the woman articulately thought, how quick she was on her feet. It was a breath of fresh air compared to the girl his mother approved of back home, full of fake facades and too thin personalities. 

“No, no, I think I’ll keep it.”

“Suit yourself,” she waved, going back to straightening up the mess she had created before he had interrupted upon arrival, pulling out an unused bottle from underneath her bed and extending it to him in invitation, as if it was a napkin or jar of salt..”It’s you who has to bear that weight, not me.”

“I don’t drink,” He smiled politely, shaking his head slightly.

“We’ll see.”

He wasn’t surprised that two years later Nix was still drinking and he was still refusing it every time she asked, knowing well enough that he would say no. It almost soothed him in a way to know that they had not changed, that under such circumstances they had stayed themselves. It gave him hope. 

“Going my way?”

He was shaken from his revelries by Lowis’s cool voice settling behind him as the train continued on it way through the countryside, Henry Welsh still fast asleep besides him. 

“Hmm,” he hummed, lowering his letter, a small smile lingering at the corners of his mouth. “Wherever the train takes me.”

“Know where that might be?”

“Haven’t got a clue.”

“Take a guess,” she teased around a smirk, that knowing glint lingering in her dark eyes. “Atlantic, Pacific?.. Atlantic?”

“I’m not the Intelligence Officer.” Winter’s scoffed around the playful jab, tilting his head back as he heard Nix shift forward towards his chair. 

“Hmm, well I of course know. But if I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

“So, tell me.”

She came around to sit on the seat opposite from him, all humor and teasing abandoned for seriousness as she leaned forward against her knees, her voice dropping. 

“New York City. Troop ship. England.” She leaned back in the chair, wrestling out a flask from her back pocket all the while not breaking eye contact with Dick, “We’re invading Europe, my friend.”

She offered him the flask as a indication of celebration, knowing more than he did about the two theaters and their dire fates, muttering something in Latin that he didn’t understand. 

“Since when do I drink?”

“If I thought you’d drink it, I wouldn’t offer it to you.” She finally smiled, relaxing and settling back into the chair, eyeing the older officer in front of her.

“Nix,” he warned, going back to writing the letter. “What are you going to do once you get into combat?”

She held up one perfect finger as she downed the swing of alcohol, smirking. “Oh, I have every confidence in my scrounging abilities.” She sighed around the familiar burn the drink left in her throat, chancing a glance at Harry before continuing. “That and I have a case of a Vat-69 hidden in your footlocker.”

He laughed, but quickly reevaluated the joke as he took in her tamed amusement. “Really?”

“Oh yeah,” she nodded, that familiar light returning to her dark eyes as Harry stirred besides him, his hair mussed and voice raspy from sleep. “Morning!”

She extended him the thin flask, reveling in the vulnerability lingering in his semi-conscious state as he smiled and took the bottle from her, Winters smiling despite of himself. 

“This could make for a very nice trip.”


End file.
